


A Friend of Red Jenny

by Loinnir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loinnir/pseuds/Loinnir
Summary: After deadly mistake, Samahl is forced to flee her clan and the Free Marches in order to survive. Aided by a city-elf called Shen, the two flee to Fereldan and the heart of the mage-templar war. But Shen has friends, the kind who stick to helping the little people being trampled into the dirt by a war they didn't start. He convinces Sam that maybe there's redemption to be found in petty thievery and leaving nobles without their breeches.But when the Conclave explodes and leaves a tear in the sky, picking on nobles becomes less of a priority as Sam finds herself closer to the demons she's been trying so desperately to outrun. Her desire for answers will bring her to the Inquisition, but the people she meets there may offer fewer answers and more trouble than she bargained for.
Kudos: 1





	A Friend of Red Jenny

An ancient codex tells us that the _vallaslin_ , or blood writing, as the shemlan call it, is what sets us apart from them. The symbols of the gods are carved into our skin as the ancient blood of elvhen, dividing us from the flat-ears who have abandoned the old ways. 

_No better than shems, who betrayed us in the end._

Even as I hear the voice of Hahren Tersyn echoing in my head, story after story, lesson upon lesson, repeated to the Clan over and over until we could say it in our sleep — 

Gritting my teeth, I drag my hand down the left side of my face, red-stained fingers digging into the blood ink drawn carefully around my eye, the tail of Falon’Din curling across my cheek, only light enough to avoid drawing blood. There wouldn’t be much of a point in permanently scarring myself in an attempt to remove it. It would take a power greater than that which haunts me to remove the most obvious evidence of my Dalish heritage. 

I snort at the thought, letting my hand fall as I lean back against the trunk of the old tree. It shelters me from the rain, its boughs wide and spreading, casting a heavy shadow over all who seek it. How long will it protect me before they come looking, either to turn me in to the shemlan Chantry or finish me off before I can hurt anyone else?

Every time I close my eyes, I see him. He trusted me, and I betrayed him — all of them. That’s all there is to it. 

_Maybe I should let them find me._

Lightning cracks across the sky and I flinch, staring wide-eyed through the canopy. Another streak of white ribbon splits the clouds. It feels angry, pointed at me. Perhaps Rori can hear me, wherever he is now. 

_You listen to me, Samahl_. I wrap my arms around myself, as though he’s here again, shaking me to my feet, standing in all the blood I spilled. _I don’t care what it looks like. You’re_ my _sister, and I won’t let them touch you. So you run. Run as far as you can and don’t look back. I will come for you. Understand?_

Another strike of lightning, and the next thing I know, one of the lesser branches cracks, the sound slicing through the rain before it comes crashing down. I leap away with a screech, desperate to avoid being crushed. My foot catches on one of the roots protruding out of the ground, and I fall backwards into the muddy clearing only a second before the branch meets the earth. It splits in two, pelting me with splinters. 

For a moment, all I can do is stare at the broken branch and at its scattered pieces; the remains of my brief respite. Rori must’ve known what I was thinking, though I can’t begin to decide _how_. He told me to run, and he meant it. 

He knows I’m too scared to die out here all alone. 

“Dread Wolf take me, Rori, if I try to disobey you,” I mutter, scrambling to my feet. My body is trembling, causing me to slip on the damp earth. It’s an effort to stand, toes curling into the mud in search of stable purchase. I blink the rain out of my eyes, glaring up at the sky. “But don’t you die fighting for me!” I scream the last words into the forest, though any sound is drowned out by the increasing downpour. Somehow, I hope he heard it. 

Thunder rolls in answer, bringing with it a darker cluster of gray clouds set to unleash a storm across the Free Marches. Whatever force controls the weather must have a sense of humor, if they choose to answer our prayers for rain now. Whose side are they on? Mine, by covering my tracks? Or theirs, by soaking me to the bone and making it harder to run? 

I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it? The only thing that does matter is that I _run_ , as Rori demanded before leaving me alone in the woods to head off the patrols sure to come looking when the elves didn’t return home. 

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the distractions. But there was so much blood, it must still be on my clothes, even with the rain —

I step forward, crying out in frustration. It doesn’t matter, blood or not. _Just run, you stupid idiot!_

The insult is so loud that I can’t tell if I imagined Rori yelling at me, or if I yelled at myself. Whatever happened, it does the trick of getting me moving. It’s easier to run once I’ve started, letting the years of childhood hunts take over and guide my steps. The hoofbeats of the halla echo in my ears, pushing me forward, towards the edge of the forest and the shores of the Amaranthine Ocean. I doubt even the creators know what I’ll do once I get there, if they even care. Am I planning on swimming to Fereldan? I hope Rori finds me before then; I can’t do this without him. 

I shake my head, pushing my hair out of my face. If that’s the best I can come up, I should’ve let the branch crush me and been done with it. And Rori won’t have that. 

I come skidding to a halt, desperate for some kind of plan before I find myself trapped on a beach with nowhere to turn. “Where do I go?” I say it, over and over again, desperate for an answer. I tug my fingers through my hair, nervously pulling at the knots while searching for a plan. The trees tower over me, watching in somber silence. Not even Rori’s lightning offers any solution. I am so utterly alone. 

“Look! Over there!” 

A chill runs down my spine at the voice. I turn, catching sight of silver armor, the only thing that sticks out in the haze of the forest.

Templars. 

_Rori_. 

I don’t see him. He said he was going to keep them off me. What if he — 

My heart hammers against my chest, pounding so hard it almost hurts. “Rori,” I whisper. I’m frozen under the pointed finger of the templar, like a deer staring into the face of its demise. The only thing that makes me better off than the deer is that I stare in fear, rather than bewilderment. I know that I’m supposed to run. But if that’s the truth, then why won’t my legs move? 

“You, elf!” the templar shouts. “Stay where you are!” 

His command snaps a bit of sense back into me, and I take a step back, hands reaching for a bow that isn’t there. It’s back in the camp, safe in my tent. I didn’t think I needed it for a meeting among friends. 

_What about the other weapon you found, out there in the woods? The one_ inside _?_

I shake my head in answer. “I thought I told you to leave,” I hiss under my breath, cursing the voice in the shadows. “I won’t touch that ever again.” 

What happened the last time is all too clear in my mind. The blood is still on my hands, going deeper than the rain-washed surface of my skin. I can still feel it, warm and wet, running down my arms and burning as hot as the blood ink of the vallaslin when our Keeper carved it into my face. 

I bring my hands to my head, pressing hard against my temples, driving the memories away. “Go away!” I scream. The templar pauses in his advancement, taken aback by my outburst. 

“Stay still,” he says, his voice taking on a gentle note. Is he trying to console me into coming with him? I’m so surprised by the notion that all I can do is stare at him, still clutching my head in a desperate attempt not to lose myself again. 

“And what, take her back to what’s left of your Circle? I don’t think so.”

The templar turns too late to dodge the arrow that pierces a weak spot in his armor; a chink between his shoulder and his chest, one we’ve been trained to look for should the Chantry ever grow tired of our presence. The red fletching demands my attention even more than the templar grunting in pain. Only one person in our Clan has ever gone to the effort of staining the feathers red. 

“Rori!” The cry is out of my mouth before I realize what’s happening. I see him, astride his hart, another arrow notched in his bow. Relief washes over me, warming me despite the rain. The voice flees from my mind, unable to compete with the presence of my rescuer. It makes me happy; if it’s not afraid of me, at least it is afraid of _someone_. 

“The Keeper agreed to help us!” cries one of the templars as he helps his companion to his feet. “She wouldn’t go against her word!” He raises his shield, and Rori’s arrow bounces off it as harmlessly as a stick against stone. 

“He must be acting alone,” the other says, drawing his sword. To my surprise, he keeps it low, defensive. “Your Keeper will disapprove, boy.” 

“Dread Wolf take my Keeper, shem!” Rori growls, loosing another arrow that sticks into the ground just in front of the templar’s feet. He pulls the hart to a stop in front of me, shielding me from them. “May he take us all, if I let my sister come to harm.” He fires another arrow, deterring them from coming any closer. 

I feel as a helpless child when he turns to me, palm open wide. “Come on, Sam. Take my hand.” His blue eyes are alight with fierce relief; I know the feeling.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I grab his hand, and he pulls me astride the hart behind him. The animal is warm and fuzzy — if still wet from the rain — beneath me; I hadn’t realized he’d neglected to saddle her. 

“I didn’t have time,” Rori answers, as though reading my thoughts — a feat that wouldn’t surprise me after my conversation with the lightning. Perhaps panic gives brothers — even ones who aren’t mages — abilities they didn’t have before. 

Or maybe I’m mad. That seems just as likely. 

“I also didn’t have time to grab your bow,” Rori says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I grabbed what I could and I left.” He rattles the quiver at his waist. Only a few arrows remain. “So hold on.” 

I obey, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist and pressing my cheek against his back. I close my eyes as he urges the hart forward, firing another arrow at the templars in answer to their order to stop. That leaves him with four. 

Closing my eyes was a mistake. All it does is give the memories purchase in the darkness, drowning me in the blood that I spilled until it’s all I can feel. 

He trusted me. They all trusted me. Even with the _vallaslin_ on my face that made me one of the Dalish that they were fearful of, they trusted me. A bridge was forming over the divide between my people and those of the alienage, at least in this part of Thedas. 

Oh how easily do bridges burn. 

The memories are jumbling together, broken into pieces by the pounding of the hart’s hoofbeats against the forest ground. All I can see is the eyes of the boy before the blinding light overtakes everything, leaving only blood in its wake. 

“Open your eyes, Samahl,” Rori says firmly. “You’re not there anymore.” 

“I am in my head, Rori,” I say, hiding my face in his back. “This is all my fault!” 

The hart’s sudden cry makes my ears pop, and I open my eyes as it rears up on her hind legs, spooked by some unseen force. Rori cries out, trying to calm her, one hand clutching me as he struggles to keep us both from falling off. She responds, but not until she’s nearly unseated us. Her ears are flattened, head cocked awkwardly to one side as she tries to see what’s behind her. 

“I’m scaring her,” I say as the realization dawns on me. “She can sense it.” 

Rori glances between us, putting the pieces together. He shakes his head. “Blighted magic,” he mutters. “Whatever it is, it’s not your fault, _lethallan_.” He cups my cheek, forcing me to look at him even as the tears are spilling over my cheeks. “You cannot believe that it is. You did not know what was coming to you.” 

“Does ignorance make me any less guilty of killing all those people?” I ask. The rain has lessened, leaving me shivering. 

“I don’t know, Sam,” Rori replies, exasperated. “What I do know, is that I’m not leaving that decision to the Keeper or the templars. It was one of their people who started this whole war in the first place.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll find a place where you’ll be safe. Trust me.” He searches me, imploring me to believe him. 

But the voice is whispering in my ears, and I can’t. 

I must fall asleep, arms clutching Rori so tightly that he has to pry them away, shaking me awake. My eyes open to a different part of the Free Marches; one of the small coastal towns, home only to fisherman and traders and slavers. The storm clouds are even thicker over the ocean, leaving only torchlight to illuminate the distrusting stares of the locals at two Dalish entering their midst. Our reputation precedes us no matter which direction we run. The salty scent of the ocean is overwhelming, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste. 

“On your feet now, Sam,” Rori says, helping me slide off the hart and onto the rocky ground. My knees wobble, but I don’t fall. He follows after me, patting the hart on the neck and whispering words of praise. After a moment, he turns to me. “I’ll sell her to the fastest buyer. That should give us enough money to buy passage on a ship.” 

The thought of selling her to the shems makes me sad, but it’s overshadowed by the mention of ship, not to mention the horrifying reality of weeks spent on the ocean. “To where?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself as I begin to shiver. The rain has transformed into a mist, but that doesn’t make me any warmer. Where does Rori want us to go? There is no escaping the mages or the templars; the war has spread across southern Thedas by now. The Chantry explosion triggered a chain reaction that went much farther than Kirkwall, and it’s been going on for almost two years. There’s no where for me to hide from what I’ve done, and I don’t want to. 

The guilt will kill me first. 

“Tevinter seems like a good idea,” Rori says, frowning at the two arrows he has left. “They can help you.” 

“Tevinter?” I stare at him, open-mouthed. “We’ve both heard the stories, Rori. I won’t let you —”

He puts a hand over my mouth, silencing my protest. “We’ve heard lots of stories, Sam. Like the one about how magic is supposed to manifest early, not wait eighteen years before the demons take notice.” His voice has dropped to a low hiss, wary of the strangers that surround us. “I don’t believe that all the stories are true, not anymore.” 

He drops his hand, balling it into a fist at his side. I swallow down the lump in my throat. “What if the ones about Tevinter are true?” All I can think about is the sacrifices and the blood magic and all the terrible things we’ve been warned about as children — the warnings Rori is about to ignore for my sake. How do I let him do that and live with myself? 

“It must be better than running head first into a war,” he says. “Let Lavellan go to the temple as the Keeper asked. Let the Clan get more involved with a conflict that doesn’t concern us. My only concern is you, and how to help you.” 

“I shouldn’t let you do that,” I manage to say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “It’s stupid. What if it comes back, and I hurt you like I hurt all of them?” 

He grips my shoulders, pressing his forehead to mine. His breaths are long and even, relaxing me, at least on the surface. “You won’t, Sam.” He cracks a grin. “And besides, I’m the eldest. You have to do what I say.” 

I can’t help my laugh, though it feels so wrong under the circumstances. 

“That’s better,” he says. “It’s about time you live up to your name, Samahl.” He smoothes the hair on top of my head. “Let’s go.” 

I follow him as an obedient little sister should, keeping my lips sealed as he makes preparations. It takes minutes to find a willing buyer for the hart; she’s a worthy beast, and we both know that the money we get hardly accounts for her value, but Rori says we can’t afford to be choosy. All we need is enough to get on a ship, and the rest we’ll figure out later. 

The docks frighten me the most, and it’s worse with only the torches to illuminate the shems that surround us. They’re so tall, some with arms thick as a tree trunk. Their eyes are so small compared to ours, yet I feel they watch our every move. I cling to Rori’s arm, frightened of losing him otherwise. 

I keep my head down as he talks to the sailors, asking for passage to Tevinter. To our dismay, most aren’t leaving the docks tonight; the storm on the horizon is enough of a deterrent, and they’re going to wait it out on shore. “Go to Kirkwall,” says one. “They have ships crossing the Waking Sea. They’re still trying to clean up the mess that bloody mage left behind him.” 

At the word _mage_ , I shrink, trying to make myself seem smaller than I already am. The blood is still on my clothes, though it’s turned more of a brownish color after so much exposure to the elements. Does anyone realize what it means? 

“I don’t need to cross the Waking Sea,” Rori says, frustrated. “I need passage to Tevinter. I have money to any who’ll take us.” 

“Now what does a couple of elves want all the way in Tevinter?” 

The voice is sinister, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. We turn, Rori putting himself in front, shielding me from the gaze of the shem. He’s tall, with thick muscles and a matted beard. Chains dangle from his waist, clinking with each step he takes. 

“Slaver,” I whisper, eyes widening. 

“Quiet, Sam,” Rori hisses, and I clamp my lips shut. 

The man laughs. “Do I scare you, knife-ear?” he asks, amused. “Good. My presence tends to help stupid people shut their mouths.” 

“I can pay you,” Rori says carefully, one hand reaching for his bow. “You have a ship? You could take us to Tevinter.” 

“I have a ship, yes,” the man says, the look of cruel amusement never leaving his gaze. “And I am headed for Tevinter, though I doubt you can afford my prices. But there are people among the Magisterium who could, I’d wager. They tend to enjoy the pointy-eared ones.” The idea of what he’s suggesting is enough to make my heart stop for a second. Slavery sounds almost worse than dying. 

“I think we’ll have to pass, shem,” Rori snaps. “But thanks for the offer.” He moves faster than I’ve ever seen him, shoving me back and arming his bow in a single motion. I hit the ground hard with my back, the wind knocked from me. “Run, Sam!” 

I scramble to my feet as he looses an arrow. The slaver is fast for his size, knocking the arrow away with his curved sword. A few witnesses stop, ducking behind anything large enough to shield them rather than intervene. 

“Stupid little knife-ear,” he spits. “And here I was going to let you live.” 

I’m frozen in place as brings his sword down, cutting through Rori as though he were as fragile as a leaf. I can’t tell if I’m screaming, or if someone else in the town has decided to be reasonable. Or perhaps we all are. I can hardly hear it over the roar in my ears. It’s worse now than it was before, when the spirit whispered and I answered its call. 

_What have I done?_

I stumble back, dazed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. It plays in my head, over and over again, from the elves in alienage to Rori, dying before me. My foot catches on a loose board, and I crash face first on the docks. My head is spinning, and I can’t get up. 

_This is all my fault._

_I can help you_ , the voice whispers, gentler than I remember. It sounds so welcoming, beckoning me forward. _Just take my hand._

I open my eyes, looking up to see a boy — a little older than me, by the looks of him — standing before me, hand outstretched. The firelight illuminates his pointy elven ears, but I see no _vallaslin_. A flat-ear, a city elf. This can’t be the voice I hear, yet his hand is outstretched and waiting. 

“Hurry!” he urges, hazel eyes wide. “Take my hand!” 

I reach out clapping my hand against his. The second our skin connects, a bloodcurdling scream comes from behind me. I turn my head in time to see the fire inside the torches roar to greater life, exploding upon Rori’s murderer. He claps his hands over his eyes, falling to the ground in a writhing, burning heap. 

“What . . .?” I breathe, struggling to comprehend what is happening. The chaos is too much to understand. The fire is snuffed out as soon as the target is met, leaving only the burning man to illuminate the area. Someone is crying for water; there’s plenty of it here. 

“Come on!” the boy says, pulling me after him, away from the fire. “I have a ship. Follow me!” 

He’s a stranger, and I shouldn’t trust him. But he’s here, and he doesn’t fear the fire. I have nowhere else to go, so I follow him, leaving the screams of the slaver behind me. 


End file.
